


Casual Contact

by arielchan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-17
Updated: 2012-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-29 16:43:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arielchan/pseuds/arielchan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>When they were in school, most everyone outside their dormitory thought that Sirius was shagging James and Remus both.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Casual Contact

When they were in school, most everyone outside their dormitory thought that Sirius was shagging James and Remus both. It was the early seventies, though, the brief era of glam rock, and the idea of glitter makeup and fluid sexuality had transitioned well into wizard rock so that even the Pureblood girls were familiar with the movement. Being casual with each other, touching, was something that helped you pull, or at least helped Sirius pull in this case.

But despite what the girls might think, there was nothing there: no crush, no desire, and certainly no shagging. None of them were interested in boys, much less each other. That would have been like incest.

It got shut up a bit when glam “died”. Touch was still a habit they couldn’t just erase, but it was no longer in fashion and James was ready to really pursue and date Lily, so things were kept behind dormitory doors, drawing occasional puzzled or knowing glances from other Gryffindor boys, especially Peter, who had always felt more than a bit left out where cuddling was concerned, but was really not attractive enough to be helpful when picking up girls.

When they’d graduated, Remus had moved his things into a little cottage in the middle of nowhere, where no one could be hurt by his condition, and had moved his body into a shoddy flat with James and Sirius. Peter had moved back in with his parents, to much teasing.

And touching, casual, not even felt anymore from years of tradition, had continued on, continued when James and Lily got married, continued right up until they went into hiding and Sirius asked Remus if he wouldn’t mind moving into that cottage for real now, to make them all less obvious targets, harder to hit. Remus had agreed, and the cottage was where he was when the owl came to him, told him that Lily and James were dead, Peter with them, and Sirius in Azkaban.

No more touching, then. Remus had no one to touch. He took his abandoned possessions from the flat and the cottage, found another little house even farther out, one with no history or attachments, and didn’t let himself make that home, either. Home was arm-in-arm with contact, and he could have none. He traveled.

Years later, Harry would tell him that he saw Peter Pettigrew stalking the school grounds on the very map he had helped draw and Remus would catch his breath. First, Sirius on the loose and the imminent, unavoidable possibility that had haunted him so long- that he would have to be the one to take down his partner in crime in a fit of anticipated vengefulness. Now, the idea of a reprieve, a method behind the madness of all the lonely years.

And so he watched, he found the passage beneath the willow again. He could have done it blind now, and might have to some day. At the shack, he hesitated inevitably at the familiar patterns of Sirius’ movements, the well-known sound of his voice that seemed to touch his very heart before he finally broke free and in, into conflict, into open arms.

So much relief, so much tangible relief at this reunion that Remus could think of nothing but the order of the world righting itself, his future moving forward.

Now, sitting in the foyer of Grimmauld Place at Dumbledore’s request, he tries to stir up vague memories of this place, this address being mentioned in connection to someone he knew in school. Then Sirius steps into the room and they both freeze up, silent. Remus stands quickly, but doesn’t move, hands clenching and releasing at his sides. “Hello,” he says quietly after a few moments, then clears his throat. “Hello, Sirius. Albus sent me.”

Sirius breaks out of his pose with a laugh. He’s at his old friend’s side in an instant, clasping him close, then bounding away to return with wine covered in a hundred years of dust at least and two speckled glasses. “Elderwine,” he says, pouring the glasses and handing one to Remus with a boyish grin. “Mother said it was being saved by my great-grandfather for a special occasion. I think this is special enough.” He raises his own glass of violet red vintage to clink with the other. “Plus, I always wanted to snag it to drink with you and James for one reason or another.”

“Cheers,” Remus says.

It’s potent wine, and a couple glasses are exactly what they need to overcome the last barrier of nerves and become as close to their old selves as either of them will ever be, squished into a dusty floral loveseat, shoulders and thighs rubbing as they move to touch or grab or gesture one thing or another despite a whole person’s worth of free space on the other end of the sofa. The wine’s nearly gone and Remus’ nerves are practically vibrating from long disuse.

They fall back into patterns of touch like these fourteen years never happened, but while their hands may be used to the motions their bodies are no longer used to the sensations. Every brush of fingers, every puff of Sirius’ breathy laugh in his ear sends an arousing shock through his neglected physical form until he’s practically trembling, restraining an improper desire to use Sirius’ wrist, pull him closer, make the rumors from twenty years ago into fact.

Sirius rubs his back carefully as he hunches over briefly to catch his breath in the wake of nervous laughter. It’s meant to be soothing, but it drives Remus crazy, makes him shake harder until his friend pulls him up into a hug and Remus realizes that Sirius thinks he’s crying. He almost does at that, lets out a choked cross between a sob and a laugh and Sirius pushes him back, looks him in the eye solemnly, and snogs the hell out of him.

He doesn’t know when they crossed this line, if this was an inevitability everyone but him knew all along or the product of their solitude, but it’s more passionate, more emotional than any experience he’s ever had before and they both get completely swept up, steered by something outside the mind so all they can do is ride it out and thrill and the connectedness of it all.

They lay in Sirius’ bedroom after, listening to the unique sound of hippogriff snores in the next room. His friend says it helps him sleep, but Remus can’t imagine such a thing from the boy who always insisted on total silence and darkness in the dormitory in order to get a decent night’s rest. He asks Sirius, joking, whatever happened to that boy, and Sirius asks him intently, whatever happened to that wolf.

The snores from both man and hippogriff blend into the background noise of the night and Remus drifts off comfortably into sleep.


End file.
